From the award-winning, bestselling author of Gorky Park and Tatiana comes a breathtaking new novel about investigator Arkady Renko—“one of the most compelling figures in modern fiction” (USA TODAY)—who travels deep into Siberia to find missing journalist Tatiana Petrovna.
Journalist Tatiana Petrovna is on the move. Arkady Renko, iconic Moscow investigator and Tatiana’s part-time lover, hasn’t seen her since she left on assignment over a month ago. When she doesn’t arrive on her scheduled train, he’s positive something is wrong. No one else thinks Renko should be worried—Tatiana is known to disappear during deep assignments—but he knows her enemies all too well and the criminal lengths they’ll go to keep her quiet.
Renko embarks on a dangerous journey to find Tatiana and bring her back. From the banks of Lake Baikal to rundown Chita, Renko slowly learns that Tatiana has been profiling the rise of political dissident Mikhail Kuznetsov, a golden boy of modern oil wealth and the first to pose a true threat to Putin’s rule in over a decade. Though Kuznetsov seems like the perfect candidate to take on the corruption in Russian politics, his reputation becomes clouded when Boris Benz, his business partner and best friend, turns up dead. In a land of shamans and brutally cold nights, oligarchs wealthy on northern oil, and sea monsters that are said to prowl the deepest lake in the world, Renko needs all his wits about him to get Tatiana out alive.
The Washington Post has said “Martin Cruz Smith is that rare phenomenon: a popular and well-regarded crime novelist who is also a writer of real distinction.” In the latest continuation of his unforgettable series, he brings us to the inside world of shadowy political figures and big wig oil oligarchs providing us with an authentic view of contemporary Russia, infused with his trademark wit.
Chapter 1 1 Sasha’s eyes were set in a huge pan-shaped head and he studied Arkady as someone who might share his misery. The bear was a towering beast but his customary roar was weakened by alcohol. His mate, Masha, sat on her rump, a half-empty bottle of champagne pressed to her breast. A plaque on the zoo guardrail read “Sasha and Masha, American Brown Bear (Ursus arctos horribilis).” That sounded about right, Arkady thought.
The bears had been released by somebody who had left a poster that declared “We Are Animals Too.” Arkady wasn’t going to dispute this.
At four in the morning the dark made every fairy-tale feature of the park into something grotesque. Statues became monsters. Shadows spread wings. Lions softly growled and polar bears manically paced back and forth.
Arkady was an Investigator of Special Cases, and if a bear running loose in the heart of Moscow was not a special case, he didn’t know what was. Victor, his partner, was an excellent detective when he was sober.
By the time they arrived, the zoo director had tagged Sasha and Masha with tranquilizer darts loaded with barbiturates that, combined with champagne, made a heady cocktail for even an Ursus arctos horribilis.
Masha slumped against a stone wall. Sasha’s every burp was a foul bubble and each snore resonated like a broken drum. One moment he seemed inert, the next he jerked upright and swept the air with a massive paw. A half dozen young zookeepers held poles like lances and cautiously surrounded the bears from a distance.
They were greeted by Victor’s sister, Nina, the zoo director, a take-charge kind of woman dressed in a sheepskin coat and hat. She was toting a tranquilizer gun.
She gave Arkady a firm handshake.
“Did you call for more help?” he asked.
“I don’t want police charging around the grounds,” she said. “That’s why I called you.”
“I am the police,” Victor said.
So much for Nina’s estimate of her brother.
Sasha and Masha were thirty meters away, lurching toward an ice cream cart. Together they shook it until the handle broke, then rocked it from side to side until it fell over. Discouraged, they lumbered back to their stone wall and collapsed to the ground.
Arkady’s father, General Renko, had hunted bears and warned him about people who thought they could outrun or outclimb them. “In case of an encounter, do not run; a bear is faster,” he said. “If he catches you, play dead.”
Arkady hoped that these young zookeepers had been trained to deal with brown bears. He had the feeling that Sasha could knock them over like tenpins.
“Tell me about last night,” Arkady said.
“We had a fund-raiser for patrons of the zoo in the main hall and there was a good deal of drinking and celebrating. We feed them, offer them champagne, and while they’re in a generous mood, we hold an auction. A cleanup crew put all the empty and half-empty bottles in bins to be picked up in the morning. It appears Sasha and Masha got into them.”
“How did they get out of their cage in the first place?”
“There’s been a lot of agitation by animal activists lately. It looks to me like an idealistic animal lover snuck in after everyone had gone, released the bears, and put up his poster as a protest. It had to be someone that the bears were familiar with.”
A classic inside job, Arkady thought.
“Apparently, one of your keepers has gone soft in the brain,” Victor said.
“And what do you auction at a zoo?” Arkady asked.
“The highest bidders are given the honor of having a baby giraffe named after them, or a private visit with a koala bear. Things of that nature.”
“In other words, it’s a crass display of money,” Victor said.
“We depend on wealthy people in high places to support the zoo.”
Not bad, Arkady thought. Had President Putin himself attended? He was known to like photo ops with lion cubs.
“Tell me about the bears,” he said.
“The female, Masha, is docile enough, but Sasha, the male, can be aggressive.”
“Poor bastards. They’ll probably be hosed down,” Victor said. “At least, that’s what they do to me in the drunk tank. Bears should be rambling through the wilds of Kamchatka in all their glory, scooping salmon out of streams and scaring the wits out of campers. Instead, they’re an embarrassment to nature.”
“Animals don’t suffer from the zoo experience,” Nina said. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Bears live longer in captivity than in the wild. They don’t mind.”
“And if you tickle a lab rat, it will giggle,” Victor said. “Can you kill a bear with that?” Victor nodded at her tranquilizer gun.
“Of course not,” Nina said. “The gun is for the bear’s protection.”
“Does the bear know that?”
“It’s just compressed air and barbiturates.” She pulled a dart with a pink pompom at its end. “We call it ‘chemical immobilization.’?”
“Masha’s on the move,” a zookeeper called out.
Masha wanted no part of the scene; she stood, sadly turned, and waddled back toward the open door of her caged den. A champagne bottle slipped from her grasp and rolled away. She sighed. The brief excursion had been excitement enough for her.
“She likes her den,” Arkady said.
“It’s called a habitat,” Nina corrected him.
“It’s a fucking circus,” said Victor.
Sasha was brokenhearted by Masha’s betrayal. He got to his feet, moaned, and swung his head from side to side.
“Now what?” Victor asked.
Nina dropped her voice. “It depends on whether Sasha follows Masha or goes to sleep. All we can do is wait.”
“How smart are they?” Arkady asked.
“At a guess, I’d say as intelligent as a three-year-old. That’s a very unscientific estimate.”
“A three-year-old giant with claws,” Victor said.
“On that order.”
“Let’s hope he needs a nap,” Arkady said. “Are bears your specialty?”
“Primatology.” She swept hair from her forehead. “I study apes.”
“Me too,” said Arkady.
“You had pets when you were a boy, didn’t you?” Victor asked.
“Some.” Arkady didn’t have ordinary pets like dogs or cats. He had collected geckos and snakes, whatever he could catch on the Mongolian steppe.
“I understood that you have experience hunting bears,” Nina said.
“Victor told me that you were a regular big-game hunter.”
Arkady turned to Victor. “You said that?”
“Maybe I exaggerated.”
“No, I never shot a bear. Maybe a rabbit.”
“Then I’ve been misinformed, as usual.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Arkady’s father had been posted in a number of godforsaken places in the middle of Siberia. In the wintertime he would enlist a native guide and head into the taiga, with Arkady following their snowshoe tracks. The natives made their living by trapping or shooting sables through the eye, leaving a pelt smooth and intact. General Renko nearly matched the hunter’s marksmanship. With a rifle, Arkady was lucky to hit a tree.
“So you have never shot or tagged a bear.” Nina’s voice sank.
“No,” Arkady said.
“Maybe we should just shoot him,” Victor said.
“Shooting a bear is the last thing we want,” Nina said. “You have no idea how difficult and expensive it would be to find another bear with a clean bill of health. Besides, Masha might reject a new bear.”
That was always a possibility, Arkady thought.
Sasha’s eyes took on a more focused glint. As he rose to his full height, a rank smell steamed off him. There was a honking and clatter as the surface of the pond rose. Sasha lifted his head and watched ducks and geese rise in formation, then locked eyes on Arkady, took a sly step forward, and extended a paw as if to say, “This way to your table, monsieur.” This was followed by a roar that shook the earth.
The zookeepers lowered their poles like lances and slowly began to move in.
“Stop!” Victor shouted. “Stay where you are!”
The young men tripped over their feet as they backed up.
Nina cocked the tranquilizer gun. She fired but the dart fell short.
She reached for another dart, inserted it into the chamber, and pulled the trigger again. By this time, Sasha was no more than ten meters away from them. Again the dart fell short. A dud. Nina’s hands were shaking. She shoved the gun into Arkady’s hands.
He loaded and fired. A pink plume like an artificial flower appeared in Sasha’s forehead. The bear swatted at it once, twice, and was asleep before he hit the ground.
Martin Cruz Smith’s novels include Gorky Park, Stallion Gate, Nightwing, Polar Star, Stalin’s Ghost, Rose, December 6, Tatiana, The Girl from Venice, and The Siberian Dilemma. He is a two-time winner of the Hammett Prize, a recipient of the Mystery Writers of America’s Grand Master Award and Britain’s Golden Dagger Award, and a winner of the Premio Piemonte Giallo Internazionale. He lives in California.
“This is Smith at his absolute best: black humor, brown bears, and gray souls.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“[A] must for any crime fiction fan interested in the underside of Putin’s Russia.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Everything just feels Russian, as though the author hikes to his hut from the taiga, warms his frozen fingers at the wood stove, pours himself a vodka, and sits down to type. This is vintage Martin Cruz Smith. Fans of Arkady Renko will be pleased.”
"The master of the international thrillier."
—The New York Times
"A huge inspiration for me."
"Martin Cruz Smith and Detective Arkady Renko are irresistible."
"Renko is one of the most compelling figures in modern fiction."
"Along with icons like Sherlock Holmes, Philip Marlowe, and Sam Spade, Arkady Renko has become one of the finest fictional detectives to prowl the literary landscape."
—The Denver Post
"What ultimately sets the Renko books apart is the careful writing, and, more important, the knowledge of the human heart."
"A continuing adventure that in terms of popular fiction is surely a work of art."
—The Washington Post
"Not merely. . . our best writer of suspense, but one of our best writers, period."